Ambush Bright
by whatsamatta
Summary: I walk in ambush bright, with terror and delight.


_**Disclaimer: I hate to tell you this, but I don't own Hey Arnold. 'Love's Instant', Spring Song', 'Mountain Moon', 'Quiet Sleeping' and 'Bright Ambush' are by Audrey Wurdemann, and are property of her and her family, while Hey Arnold and the included characters belong to Craig Bartlett. This is an AU, around 1914/1919 in rural America – let's say the Pacific Northwest, because that is my area of expertise. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

HA

Rays of sunlight broke through the green leaves of the mighty oak tree, warming Helga and her two children. The worn green book sat open in her lap, the torn and yellow pages presenting the black text. With a head of blonde hair snuggled into each side, and an arm around them both, Helga smiled and continued with her reading.

"_I held an instant in my hands The thing that no one understands, The thing most perfect and complete, Most finely fashioned and most fleet, And of myself I let it go, Being afraid to hold it so, Being afraid that overmuch It would be tarnished at my touch. It was as though, thus caught and mine, A flying fish, a silver line With wings of gauze grown softer still, Lay in my hands and at my will, And of my will it was set free, And plunged like moonlight in the sea. And though I surely know if I Should prison beauty, it would die, And though I know that flying fish Are sheathed with subtle spines, I wish That somewhere, someday, I could hold The ice-thin wonder, silver-cold, Until its thorny filigree Had pierced my hands and wounded me, And I would chance that beauty, dying, Were lovelier still than it were flying._" She finished, and smiled as her children ohh-ed and ahh-ed with fascination.

"Oh Mamma, that was pretty! Tell us another!" Edward, her son and the younger of the two, begged while tugging on his mother's white, high waist dress. Helga smiled and ruffled his hair.

"I suppose one more couldn't hurt. Can you tell me why we read poetry out here?" She asked, and Jillian, nodded while sitting up.

"It's because the faeries love poetry." She explained, while Edward jumped up and placed his hand against the tree.

"And we read here because this is where the faeries live." He cheered and Helga laughed and pulled her son back into her arms.

"And how do you know they live here and enjoy poetry?" she tested, and her children rested themselves against her again.

"We can see them; and when we can't, we can hear and sense them." Jillian answered, leaning away from her mother to look up at the branches of the tree.

"And they come out the most when you read poetry to us, Mamma." Edward whispered enthusiastically while nuzzling into his mother's side.

"That's right my dears. Now, how about another poem to see of we can get the faeries to come out and play." Her children cheered, and Helga settled down within the roots to read again.

"_The sweet wild dogwood wears its flowers Through silent shadow-patterned hours, And ivory cream-cups make a star Where robin and wake-robin are. The Judas-trees let crimson drip From each spire-pointed fingertip, And bishop's crosiers unfold To dust the ginger-root with gold. Then, gathering all her loveliness, Spring goes, and leaves us no address . . ._"

***

Arnold walked through the woods in the late afternoon sun, looking for his family that had conveniently disappeared when his cousin Arnie was due to arrive any minute. Of course Helga would take the kids and run while Arnie was staying with them for a few weeks. She had never really taken to Arnie, and his cousin had always made his affections towards Arnold's beautiful wife known, well, at least until the two were married. Arnie has backed off a bit since then, but he still has a plethora of compliments for the mother of his children.

He was just about to turn back and pick up his cousin at the town square, when he heard the giggling of three distinct voices. Smiling, he picked up his pace along the trail, brushing aside branches and leaves until he hit the meadow. In the center of all the clover and flowers, he saw his wife and children dancing and spinning in the shadows around the giant oak. He could see small flecks of yellow around them, but figured it to be trick of the light and was content to watch his family. He could hear Helga sing part of a poem, Edward and Jillian joining where they knew.

"_Up from your flocks, O Shepard, You lithest of your clan; Up from your ragged woolens, And find us if you can. Though you of the lowlands be fickle, We are faithful for the night. For the span of moon's white sickle, You may seek us on the height. Up from your rags, you laggard, Who would woo the lowland girls; Come where the peaks are haggard, And the edge of the crisp moon curls. Leave your dull sleep, O dreamer, And halloo the saeter song. Lead you on for a little, And you will follow long._" She and Jillian twirled, swishing their skirts before taking Edward's hands and spinning in a circle. The children laughed as they let go of their mother's hands to fall in the grass, while she kept spinning. Arnold could see the yellow specks continue to swarm her. Suddenly the remnants of an old story his grandmother told him from the old country entered his mind. Of the faeries, and how they would sometimes choose a person to spirit away into their lands. They would be immortal, and never see their mortal families again.

Fear gripped his heart with an icy hand, and he forced a smile while beginning to walk and call out to his family.

"Edward! Jillian!"

Helga suddenly stopped, and smiled as her children rushed to embrace their father.

"Papa!" they called, and jumped into a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Hello loves. Why don't you run ahead and meet your Uncle Arnie at the square? That would be a great surprise for him. Your mother and I will follow along shortly." The children cheered, and called a goodbye to their mother before racing each other back towards town. Once he was sure they had gone, Arnold turned back to his wife who hadn't moved from her spot. She smiled at him, and he took a quick glance at his pocket watch before walking over to her.

"Helga . . ." he began, but she silenced him with a kiss. When she pulled away, he was breathless and confused, but she didn't explain.

"_The tired brain has not more thought For songs unsung, for stairs unsought. The tired brain has no more need Of syllables on which to feed. Let there be certainty and peace Spread like a slow descending fleece. O let there sift the single trace Of earth upon the earthly face, And only quiet, in the keeping Of the shadows, quiet sleeping, Less of dreaming, less of breath, Less of waking, less of death._" She recited for him, and he had that heart-squeezing feeling once again. In her eyes, complete calm was startling; her orbs were always even a little restless.

"Come on, let's go fetch Arnie and the kids." He offered, and she smiled with a nod. He turned to leave, and had made it to the trail leading into the woods before he realized Helga was not with him. Looking around, he found he was alone in the clearing, with only the quickly disappearing yellow specks for company.

***

Gray-haired and doubled over with age, Arnold sat beneath the green leaves of the mighty oak tree, simply allowing his memories to take him for a ride. It's been forty years since Helga disappeared, and he can still feel her all around him, especially when he sits below this tree.

Jillian and Edward have long since married and started their own families, but they still find time to return back home to read their mother's poetry with their father at the faerie tree. While now they say it's simply to entertain their ailing father's wishes, he knew that deep down, they still believed, and told the stories and poems and sang the songs with their children, much like how Helga taught them. He appreciated it, and knew their mother did as well.

A flash of white caught his eye, and a soft humming he hadn't heard in forty years teased his ear. Suddenly she was there, in his mind's eye, dancing and twirling and frolicking in her favorite white dress among the flowers and the clover. Smiling and singing that silly Mountain Moon song, she hadn't aged a day and it was as if she was never gone. Then his eyes re-focused at the sound of their grandchildren calling him, and Helga was gone.

Realization struck him hard then, as that squeezing on his heart that never really disappeared intensified. Although that wouldn't ward him away from visiting everyday, reading poetry and speaking to her as if she were there. And for all he knew, she was there, sitting there next to him in bright ambush on the other side of that magic wall that separated the faeries and the mortals.

But though he could stay for a year and a day, he would never see her again.

HA


End file.
